The Blatant Ripoff of the Rings
by Cazrolime
Summary: The imaginatively named One Ring has been found by the most unlikely person imaginable: a Furry Short Person named Fenchurch. Can she travel to the dreaded Mallmart, there to destroy It? Who knows? I don't. OUT OF HIATUS!
1. It's My Party

DISCLAIMER: I own Lord of the Rings! Wait … aw, crap, I don't.

N/B: this is my first, um, 'feature-length' fic, so please don't kill me if it stinks. I dedicate this to my mum, 'cos I wrote it on her birthday and she's really cool, putting up with my raving even though she doesn't like LOTR. Um … shifts through notes Oh yeah, clears throat "this fanfic is sponsored by Legolocks, for hair so clean that it shines". (That is the quality of the humour, I'm afraid. Run, escape while you still can!) Now, without further ado:

**The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings**

**The Fellowship of the Round Shiny Yellow Thing**

**Chapter 1: It's my party and I'll inherit evil jewellery if I want to**

It was a bright, cold dawn in September, and the clocks were striking five. The morning peace was shattered by the loud, discordant singing.

"It's my birthday, it's my birthday, it's my bir – ir – ir – irthday…"

Then again, it was rarely peaceful at Backpack Finish.

"Happy birthday to meeeeeeee, I can get a degreeeeeeee! I can drive and shoot fireworks and stuff, happy birthday to meeeeeeee!"

No-one could remember why the house was called Backpack Finish: apparently it had, for reasons unfathomable, seemed like A Good Idea At The Time.

"I'll! Have! The time of my li-i-ife! And I –"

The impromptu singing ended abruptly as Fenchurch tripped over a sleeping bag. It said, "Ow".

"Sammy! Wake up!" Fenny bounced to her feet – she had a habit of bouncing everywhere – and rolled Samantha over and over. Sam crawled painfully out of the blankets.

"What time is it?" she glared blearily at her watch. "Oh wow. You gave me a lie-in this year."

"I forgot to set my alarm. Come on! Presents!"

Fenny's uncle Bill was up too, but that was probably because he didn't sleep much. The poor guy was practically insomniac. Sam reckoned it was eighteen years with Fenny bouncing everywhere.

Bill welcomed them into the living room with his usual good-natured dazedness, and then wandered off, bidding them a vague "Merry Christmas" as they handed him his presents. Sam wondered if Bill even remembered it was his birthday too.

"The big 5 – 0," Fenny explained. "He's probably trying not to think about it. He doesn't really do birthdays much: just Christmas, and sometimes Easter."

The sofa was already piled high with gifts from Fenny's assorted aunts, uncles, and third cousins sixteen times removed, plus Sam's gift. Fenny's family was pretty rich, not to mention extended.

"Even the S-B's have sent one," Sam exclaimed. The Snobbyston-Backpacks, Fenchurch Backpack's obscure mother's – brother's – wife's – sister's cousins, were famous for their stinginess. (Except for their son Lox, who was famous for his extreme generosity in pulling the wings off of flies.)

Fenny just grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Care to join me?"

"No reason why not."

"Dig in," Fenny laughed and they both hurled themselves at the mountain of brightly wrapped and beribboned parcels.

It was a couple of hours later when Megan and Poppy appeared, each clutching a box. The wrapping paper had fluffy bunnies in blue waistcoats dancing on it.

"Mum's been wrapping stuff for Christmas _already_, and we thought it'd be cool to send Lox something in this." Poppy displayed the awful paper with a flourish.

"We wouldn't have sent him anything at all, but dad was going on about honour-bound family ties and all," put in Megan, rolling her eyes. She and Poppy were sisters-in-law, and cousins with Fenny.

"Problem is, we ran out of all the decent paper and there wasn't anything else to wrap _your _present in," Poppy concluded apologetically. Megan nodded.

"Anything to bring a bit of suffering to the life of Wart," Fenny grinned. Sam, Poppy and Megan walked inside. Fenny bounced inside.

No sooner had they reached the living-room than the doorbell rang. The harmonic bars of _Swan Lake_ drifted through the house as Bill hurried to the door. The four heard it creak open (the best carpenter in Europe hadn't been able to fix that creak). Then:

"Gareth!"

"Bill!" The voice was gravely and good-humoured, but worried.

"Gareth, where have you been? I haven't seen you in years!"

Bill's light footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by the _clump, clump_ of a much heavier tread. They reached the door to the living-room, and Bill's voice floated through. "You just wait in there, and I'll put the kettle on…"

"This cannot wait." Gareth sounded urgent. "I have grave tidings."

"Well, come on into the living room and…"

Gareth must have heard Fenny & co. in there, for he interrupted: "grave _private_ tidings."

Poppy, Megan, Sam and Fenny all grinned at each other, then as one they scuttled towards the kitchen where Bill and Gareth had headed. Hiding behind a huge old wooden trunk, they could hear every word spoken.

"How are you anyway?" Bill asked as he made tea and piled cookies onto a plate. "I haven't seen you since we got lost in the mountains that time, with Timmy and his brothers, remember…"

"I am fine." Gareth was brushing his head on the ceiling even when he was sitting down: Fenny reckoned he must be either a Tall Person or a Smelly Person. He was definitely not a Furry Short Person like herself, her uncle and her friends. "It is you, Bill, that I am concerned about. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, fine. Never felt better, in fact. Cookie? I baked them myself."

Gareth seemed a bit put out by this. "No lingering feeling you've lost something? No momentary fangs? No thinness? Come on, there must be something."

Bill shrugged. "No, not really. Do you want milk in your tea?"

"What? No, I'm lactose-intolerant. So, could you lend me your ring a moment?"

"What ring?"

"Aha! Denial!" Gareth exclaimed triumphantly. "Believe me, Bill, I think you've had this ring long enough. Too long, if it has had such a grievous effect on you."

Bill, meanwhile, had been searching through his pockets. He brought out something shiny. "You mean this ring? You can have that, I got it in a cracker ages ago. It's only plastic anyway."

"No, you got it from the creature Gregory, who you had a riddle-contest with from which you only just escaped with your life! Is this not that ring?"

"Oh, that ring! I thought you meant the…"

Gareth rubbed his nose wearily. "Just get it out."

"Here it is." Bill produced a ring from his breast-pocket, and it shone like the sun, reflecting the light so that it looked like molten gold. It was a perfect, unbroken circle, with not a hair-scratch to mar its beautiful smooth gold perfection.

Sam punched Fenny's arm, and she realised she'd been staring with her mouth open.

Bill was talking again. "There's no need to be melodramatic. Gregory was quite a nice boy, by all accounts, even if he did need to get out in the sun a little more often. He showed me the way out of that cave, remember? I'd have been done for if I hadn't met him."

Gareth obviously decided to change the subject for the moment. "Do you mean to go on with your plan?"

"Well, I do need a good long holiday, and since Fenny can look after herself I thought I'd ask if she wants to have the place to herself for a while. I wasn't planning on going yet though. I can't leave on her birthday! No, that wouldn't do. It wouldn't be fair on Fenny. She's a sensitive girl at heart, you know…"

"I think it would be for the best to leave as soon as possible. I've booked you a suite in the Hotel de Brookdale. There's a taxi outside. I've paid the driver. Go as soon as possible."

Bill raised his eyebrows. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to spirit me away, Gareth."

"No, but it is a good idea to go as soon as possible. They have extensive kitchens at Brookdale," Gareth added. "With full kitchen privileges to all guests."

"Really?" Bill's face lit up like a sunrise. "Full kitchen privileges?"

"And a multi-cultural salad bar," added Gareth.

Bill's eyes shone. "I'll have to pack," he began.

"Done."

"How?"

"Plot hole. I will look after Fenny."

"Can't I at least leave her a note? She will want to know where I am."

"Done." Gareth handed Bill his suitcases and ushered him towards the back door. "Have a nice trip."

Bill hesitated a second more then, with much coaxing from Gareth, walked out of the door. It closed with great finality.

Gareth stood in the kitchen for a moment staring at it. Then he swore and hurried after Bill.

Fenny jumped to her feet. "He can't just leave! Where is he going?"

Sam, Megan and Poppy also leapt up. Megan ran to the back door, yanked it open and ran out, followed closely by Poppy. Sam pulled at Fenny's arm. "Come on! We can catch up with them!"

Fenny allowed herself to be pulled towards the door. "He didn't even say _goodbye_!" Then she shook herself and grabbed the door-handle. "Uncle Bill!"

Before she could turn the handle, the door burst open and Gareth strode in, carrying the ring. He balanced it gingerly on his hand as if it were about to burst into flame. Fenny and Sam squeaked in surprise and dived beneath the table.

Ceremoniously dumping the ring on the kitchen worktop, Gareth spun around to see what the squeaking and rustling was about. He advanced towards the table.

Outside, Poppy knocked a bin over.

Gareth leapt out of his skin and ran once more out of the back door. Poppy and Megan slipped in.

"He's gone," Poppy reported of Bill. "He gave his ring to that Gareth guy –"

"Dropped it," corrected Megan. "And man, was it sticking to his fingers!"

"– then he drove off in the taxi."

"I've never seen him move so fast. He looked scared of the freaking thing, once he'd let go of it."

The ring was pleasantly cool and smooth and surprisingly heavy in Fenny's fingers. The air around it seemed to shimmer, as if in a heat haze.

"Fenny?" Sam ventured uncertainly.

Fenny stroked the ring gently and it glowed like molten gold. She could have sworn it was purring.

A heavy hand roughly grabbed her shoulder and her fingers curled protectively around the ring as she looked up, startled.

"Oh crap," said Gareth.


	2. Big Looming Scary Shadow of the Past

NIER : Je ne posséd pas le Seigneur des Anneaux. Tu ne me poursuivre pas en justice, s'il vous plait.

COMPETITION! Spot the starting paragraphs! Cyber-cookies to the winner! Chocolate chip ones!

Okay, this one's for Ed, my proof-reader. I am thankful to say that you gave this fic back with no more spelling mistakes than when I gave it to you.

**The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings**

**The Fellowship of the Round Shiny Yellow Thing**

**Chapter 2: the Big Dark Scary Looming Shadow™ of the Past**

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at Backpack Finish.

This time, however, it was not between Fenny and Samantha (who slept over so often she was practically a roommate) over who would have the last slice of toast. No, this time it was full-blown, serious, and unsolvable with a game of rock-paper-scissors.

"You must understand! The Ring is evil!" Gareth cried, indicating the inoffensive bit of jewellery lying on the kitchen table. They all stared at it, except for Poppy, who was eating cookies.

"How can it be evil?" Fenny protested.

Sam nodded in support. "Yeah," she said, "wouldn't it be red and spiky or something?"

Gareth rolled his eyes in exasperation. He'd never realised Chosen Ones could be so dense. "It doesn't have to _look_ evil. The whole point is that it doesn't look evil. But it is, and you four have to destroy it."

Fenny nearly fell off her chair. "_Destroy_ it?"

Megan shrugged. "Well, if it's evil, then we can't leave it lying around. That's if it _is_ evil," she added, looking hard at Gareth who flinched under her glare. Megan had a very potent glare.

"I suppose I'll have to explain," he sighed. All four girls nodded fervently. "Well, long ago, twenty Rings of Power were created. Nine the Dark Lord Susan gave to her sales assistants, and they quickly fell into darkness. Seven she gifted to the Short People. Three the Tall People made, and Susan's hand has never touched nor sullied them."

"That's only nineteen Rings," pointed out Poppy.

"Allow me to finish!" cried Gareth. "As I was saying, there were twenty Rings. The last to be made, and by far the most powerful and dangerous, was the One Ring. One Ring to rule all the others."

"That's an original name," muttered Sam.

"If you wear it, your body becomes kind of transparent, and gloopy like Tasty Wheat and you can fit through the smallest spaces. But if you keep it for too long, you will start spouting annoying catchphrases and eventually fade."

"Fade?"

"Yes, fade, till you were permanently gloopy and transparent. Susan lost the One Ring in an epic battle against an alliance of Tall People and Smelly People. It stayed lost for many centuries, till it was found by a Furry Short Person called Seymour. He moved away from his home to live in a cave, and everyone shunned him and called him Gregory because the Ring made it impossible for him to get a girlfriend."

"The same Gregory that Uncle Bill met?" cried Fenny.

"Gregory was a Furry Short Person too?" asked Poppy, looking around at the well-stocked kitchen and trying to imagine living in a cave.

"Yes, indeed. And Bill also found the Ring, which he kept – not knowing it belonged to Gregory, and before that Susan. He found out later, but by then he was miles away from the cave and there was a postal strike."

"And you think this is the One Ring?" asked Megan sceptically.

"I have my suspicions. There is one test still to make," answered Gareth. He abruptly scooped up the Ring and ran it under the cold tap.

"What the heck…?"

Gareth turned off the cold tap and handed the Ring to Fenny. "What do you see?" Fenny held it up to the light, staring at it. There was nothing: it was just as blank as before. Except…

"There's writing! Writing on the Ring!" she cried. "It's all in symbols, though. I can't read it."

"I can," said Gareth. "And a terrible, harrowing read it makes. It is in the ancient language of Mallmart, which I shall not utter here. In English it runs:

_One Ring to Rule them All,_

_To shamelessly plug them,_

_One Ring to fool them all,_

_And on Ebay flog them._"

All four friends pulled faces. "That is _so_ not Shakespeare," complained Megan.

"Don't blame me," Gareth defended himself, "I didn't write it."

"What do we do?" Poppy asked fearfully.

Gareth groaned in exasperation. "Haven't you been listening? You must destroy it!"

"Why us?"

"Because I said so. Make for the village of Cheddar. I will meet you there."

"Why don't you just come with us?"

Gareth paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Because that would mean passing up a chance of valuable drama and angst. Now get moving."

"We need to pack, and …"

"Done. Plot hole. I'll meet you at Cheddar with further instructions." And with that, he left. The door swung shut with a thud like the closing of a coffin.

After a few seconds, it opened again. "Forgot my hat," explained Gareth.

The door swung shut.

After waiting a minute to make sure it didn't open again, Fenny turned to her friends. She shoved the Ring, awful poem already fading, into her pocket, hoisted her backpack (which had conveniently appeared, fully packed, on her back), and picked up one of the remaining cookies. "Well," she said to her companions, "we might as well go, then."


	3. Three is a Quarter of Twelve

Lord of the Rings is not mine

No matter what I do,

I've tried to claim it time after time

But I beg you: please don't sue!

**The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings**

**The Fellowship of the Round Shiny Yellow Thing**

**Chapter 3: Three is a Quarter of Twelve**

"Goodbye Finish!

Goodbye Finish!

Goodbye Finish!

We're going to go on a quest!"

"Please, Fenny, say you're not going to sing all the way to Cheddar," begged Megan. "I don't think my ears could take it."

The air was warm, the birds were singing, and the phone box door swung gently in the breeze. Fenny stepped inside and inserted 20p. She dialled the number of the taxi service, and waited impatiently for someone to pick up at the other end.

Finally the rings ended. "Hi, could we hire a –" began Fenny, but a pleasant electronic voice interrupted her.

"Hello caller. If you would like to speak to the manager, press one. If you would like to hire a taxi, press two. If you would like to …"

Fenny pressed two.

"Your call is important to us, and will be answered in … three … hours."

Fenny slammed the phone down. Three hours? They could walk to Cheddar in that time. She bounced out of the phone box. "Looks like we're walking."

Three hours later, they were still walking.

"You _sure_ this is the right way?" Sam asked for the twelfth time.

Megan, who was directing, pulled the map out of her pocket and squinted at it. "Ye-es," she answered in an un-reassuring way. "It should be down this road, and then turn right. Then if we cut through the field at the bottom of the lane, that'll save us a huge great loop …"

"I'm hungry," contributed Poppy.

When they got to the bottom of the hill the sun was already high in the sky and beating down with scorching rays. By now all four were starving, so they found a shady spot in a grove of gnarly old oak trees and sat on the grass to eat. "What've we got?" asked Fenny.

Sam, searching through her pack, said, "This one's full of pots and blankets."

"Mine's got clothes in," added Megan, displaying a rather gaudy yellow shirt with a daffodil pattern around the collar.

Poppy groaned. "Cereal bars! I hate cereal bars!" she emptied her pack onto the grass. "Look! Tofu! Eww…" she held up a bag which apparently had once contained runny cheese.

"Well, we can't go back," said Fenny. "That'd take all day."

"Plus there's these weird guys wandering around," piped up Sam.

"Weird guys?"

"Dressed all in pinstriped suits and bowler hats, with black leather suitcases and toothbrush moustaches," confirmed Sam, "driving black Rolls-Royces. One came to the door yesterday and tried to sell Dad life insurance."

"We'll just have to get to Cheddar as soon as possible," muttered Fenny. "Ah!"

"What's the matter?" cried Sam and Megan. Poppy looked scared.

"Nothing, I've just found some cookies."

They ate the cookies. They were chocolate chip.

Perhaps it was the hot sun, or the cool breeze playing about the trees, or just because they had got up at five in the morning, but suddenly and uncomfortably they woke up from a sleep they had never meant to take. The sun had set and the wind was howling around the grove when Poppy leapt to her feet. She had never liked sleeping out of doors, even in a tent, and right now she found it impossible to.

Pulling herself up by a tree, she stumbled towards the road, drawn by who knows what. Even in the relatively sheltered grove, the air had a strange chill to it and the moonlight did not seem to penetrate it, casting everything into shadow. Poppy whirled around with a small scream as a car engine on the edge of hearing stopped and footsteps began to make their way towards the clearing.

A tall, forbidding, pinstriped figure loomed into view through the mist. Poppy ran back to her friends, tripping over tree-roots concealed in shadow. "Megan!" she whispered urgently. "Fenny! Sam! Wake up!"

She shook Fenny, who awoke with a cry which shocked Megan and Sam into wakefulness. Sam crawled over. "What is it? What time is it? Oh, we should've gone sooner."

"There's a man … on the road!" Poppy pointed back the way they had come. Something struck her which she hadn't really thought about. "He was sniffing."

"Sniffing?" Fenny was wide awake, staring with wide eyes into the darkness. Poppy nodded silently. As one, the four backed into the trees and crouched behind a log.

The man – or whatever it was – moved closer. They could now see the thin, pale face, the black-and-white pinstriped suit, the tiny bowler hat, the enormous suitcase clasped in one white-knuckled hand.

He was coming right for them, face thrown back, long nostrils dilating as he sniffed the air.

Fenny thought of the Ring. Maybe if she was transparent, she wouldn't be so noticeable. And Tasty Wheat didn't smell of much, did it? Especially when it was watered down.

But what about Sam and Megan and Poppy? She couldn't just abandon them.

She'd be no good for anyone if she were caught. At least if one of them were free, then perhaps …

They didn't have to come with me! They could have stayed at home!

They could go home, and you could go on.

They didn't leave me, and I'm not leaving them. We're friends; we're supposed to be loyal.

You think this is a real test? You wait till later. Then talk about friendship and loyalty. What if Susan gets the Ring back, what then?

Who says he's anything to do with Susan?

What else could he be? Are you going to sit here and find out?

Sam watched Fenny with concern. Usually her friend couldn't shut up for five minutes at a time, but now she was silent as a mute mouse and almost as pale as the man in front of them. In the gloom, Sam saw Fenny's hand sneak to her pocket. She elbowed her hard, and Fenny jumped, with a hiss of "if that's what I have to do."

Sam caught her as she swayed. "What?"

Fenny shook her head, looking embarrassed. "Nothing."

The man must have heard them, for he started moving faster and in a beeline to their log. Fenny closed her eyes, and Sam put an arm around her shoulders. Poppy and Megan were hugging each other and quivering.

Suddenly the man's head snapped up. They caught a glimpse of eyes like deep black pools and sharp, glittering teeth before he turned tail and fled the clearing.

Sam frowned, though inside she was dancing and singing. "What the…?"

Then they all leapt a foot in the air as: "Dilly billy do?" said a curious voice behind them.


	4. A Shortcut Through Three Whole Chapters

Me: Disclaimer time! Come on out!

Ed: Do I have to?

Me: You don't proof-read, you pay the price. Come on, the ladies and gentlemen want to read the story.

Ed: (emerges from behind curtain wearing frilly magenta toga, sequined fairy wings and high-heeled slippers)

Me: (giggle)

Ed: I feel really stupid.

Me: Hey, at least you don't have to wear the wig!

Ed: Ellie does not –

Me: Do the voice! Do the voice!

Ed: (sighs and begins again in squeaky helium-induced voice) Ellie does not own Lord of the Rings or anything related to it. Please do not sue us. I'm going to fall out of these slippers in a minute.

Me: And…?

Ed: Oh yeah, um, PLEASE review! Otherwise Ellie'll prod me – uh, I mean, um, please review.

Me: Okay, you're free to go!

Ed: (tries to run but falls out of slippers)

**The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings**

**The Fellowship of the Round Shiny Yellow Thing**

**Chapter 4: A Short-Cut through Three Whole Chapters**

"Ting tang walla walla bing bang," explained the man as he led Fenny, Sam, Megan and Poppy through the forest. He was taller than them, too tall for a Furry Short Person, but so far as Fenny could tell from her limited experience he was not a Tall or Smelly Person either. Maybe a Short Person? But he had no beard…

"D'you have any idea what the heck he's saying?" Sam whispered to her. Fenny shook her head.

"Sounds like a load of nonsense."

Maybe he was some whole new kind of Person. A Weird Person, or a Nonsensical Person.

"That tree just gave me the finger," complained Poppy. Megan rolled her eyes.

"Don't be dumb, trees don't – hey! It stuck its tongue out at me!"

"I heard these woods were haunted," said Sam ominously.

"What, by trees with fingers?"

They stumbled on through the tall trees. It was still dark, and although the wind was less in the forest, the air was freezing cold. Soon their breaths were coming in gasps. Then just ahead of them, appearing suddenly out of the darkness was a huge brown house with smoke curling out of the chimney.

They ran towards the warm yellow light spilling from its windows. As they reached the door, Poppy paused. "Can you smell something?"

"Nothing special."

"Smells … sweet. Like cake," mused Poppy. She prodded the wall. "Gingerbread!"

"What?"

"The walls are made of gingerbread!"

And the door was caramel, there were flaky chocolate logs in the toffee fireplace (they never worked out where the smoke was coming from), and the taps poured out hot and cold running icing sugar.

"Will you look at these windows? Glazed sugar!"

"Um, the beds are made out of crispbread," called Sam from upstairs.

"Well, you don't expect people to live entirely on sweets, do you?"

The speaker was a tall, slender young woman, with long flowing golden hair and deep blue eyes. Her face was fair and her voice melodious, and she wore a simple, flowing summer-dress of turquoise and silver.

"My name is Mary-Sue," she almost sang. "How did you come to find our house?"

"Uh, we were being chased by this weird guy in a pinstriped suit, and … um …" Fenny gestured toward the man who had saved them.

"Tommy," he supplied happily.

"… chased him off," she finished.

Tommy burbled joyfully to himself for a moment, then turned to Mary-Sue. "Willa walla oompa loompa loompity doo oom pa pa," he explained. "Oom pa pa ting tang walla walla bing bang, gin gan goolie goolie goolie goolie wotcha gin gan goo."

"Haya ahaya shaya ahaya shaya haya hoo?" asked Mary-Sue with a completely straight face.

"Shallywally shallywally shallywally oompa oompa oompa," confirmed Tommy. Mary-Sue turned to face Fenny, Sam, Poppy and Megan, who were unsure whether or not to laugh.

"Dear Tommy understands English, he just can't speak it. He's much more comfortable in his home language."

"Oh. Um."

Mary-Sue became serious. "You mentioned the Pinstriped Drivers?"

"The what?"

"The fell creatures that hunted you. The –" she lowered her voice as if afraid they would hear, " –Salesgûl."

There was a rumble of thunder outside, making the sugar windows rattle, and a flash of theatrical lightning.

"There was only one," said Fenny.

"There are nine, the Nine Pinstriped Drivers. You are lucky to have only met one."

"Why did it run from Tommy?" asked Poppy. Tommy grinned toothily.

"Tommy has been around longer than them, and he shall continue long after they are gone," explained Mary-Sue. "There is a strange power in him that comes of being so long lived; or perhaps it is what makes him so. It certainly keeps the house fresh, which is a blessing. Can you imagine living in mouldy gingerbread?"

"But what about the Sales – the, um, Pinstriped Drivers?"

Mary-Sue was silent a moment in a very dramatic way. "Once they were Smelly People, sales assistants to the Dark Lord Susan. Then she gifted to them nine Rings of Power, and they quickly fell into darkness. Now they are doomed to wander the earth, in thrall to the Dark Lord, doing her bidding. And right now her bidding is to find the One Ring, which Susan lost all those centuries ago and has craved ever since."

"Haven't we heard this already?" asked Poppy.

Mary Sue gestured melodramatically to the mint humbug stairs. "You may dwell safe with us this night. No evil may pass these walls."

"Uh …" Fenny looked around at her companions for consent. It would definitely beat sleeping outside again.

Poppy stared out of the window at the threatening dark and the heavy rain which had started to pound the cottage, and nodded quickly. Megan nodded too. "If Poppy stays, I'm staying."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked Fenny. "I mean, we only just met them."

"Do you want to stay? We have blankets. We could camp out."

Sam looked hard at Mary-Sue and Tommy. "They seem fair enough," she conceded. "If you want to sleep inside, I'll stay with you."

"Thanks," said Fenny. She turned back to Mary-Sue. "Okay, we'll stay. Um. Thanks …"

"It's quite all right," smiled Mary-Sue, waving them upstairs. "On a quest as important and danger-fraught as yours, it is an honour to be able to help."

Fenny caught the last comment with puzzlement. They were only taking the Ring to Cheddar; it wasn't so dangerous! It shouldn't even take too long: just tomorrow morning.

"At the end of the day you're another day older,

And that's all you can say for –" she started to sing. Megan threw a pillow at her.

"Please, I want to sleep!"

Fenny bounced onto the end of her crispbread bed. "I can't get to sleep."

"She never can," confirmed Sam. "I don't know when she sleeps. I don't think she ever sleeps."

"Nope," confirmed Fenny cheerfully. "Completely sleepless 24/7, me."

"You don't show it," grumbled Megan. "But I need my sleep."

Fenny grinned and flopped onto the bed. After a while, something struck her. "Do you know the way to Cheddar from here?"

No answer. The others were already asleep.

Oh well, they could ask in the morning.

Ack, boring chapter. Sorry. Ellie hits herself Ach, we hatess the nassty writers' block, yess Precious…

Um.

Dragon empress – Woo hoo! You are my first reviewer! glomps Thanks! Yeah, the Backpack Finish thing sort of came to me in a flash of light. Well, I was going to do Rucksack, but I wanted to use the S-B's so I thought: what's the B-starting equivalent of rucksack? Um, um, backpack! Yeah, that's how slow my thought processes are. hangs head in embarrassment

Who likes campfire songs? Gin gan goolie goolie goolie goolie wotcha gin gan goo, gin gan goo!

All my wonderful, wonderful readers: please R&R!


	5. Smog on the Barrow Downs

Disclaimer: D'you know what? I _still_ don't own LOTR! (breaks down and starts to sob)

**The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings**

**The Fellowship of the Round Yellow Shiny Thing**

**Chapter 5: Smog on the Barrow-Downs**

Unfortunately, when Fenny woke up she was in an empty clearing and there was no sign of Tommy or Mary-Sue. Had it all been a dream? Fenny could hardly believe the author would resort to such cheap plot tactics so early in the story.

"Sam?" She poked her friend, who was asleep with her head on a rock. Sam rolled over and muttered, "Five more minutes..."

"Sam! Wake up!"

The urgency in her voice must have filtered through, for Sam's eyes snapped open and she rolled awkwardly into a sitting position. "What's the matter? Hey, where'd the house go?"

"No idea," muttered Fenny.

Sam looked around at the clearing. It was filled with the grey light of early morning, echoing with birdsong, and completely devoid of gingerbread.

Poppy was wandering around the rim of the trees, near where the clearing opened onto a wide expanse lumpy with hills. "I can smell something sweet."

"Again?" asked Megan, sitting up and stretching from a bed of moss. "Your nose is fine-tuned for sugar, Pop."

Poppy bent down and scooped up something flat and pale. "They left us a letter!" She ran back to the other three, waving the slice of paper, and spread it out on Sam's rock.

"Rice paper," observed Sam, scrutinizing it. "Written in food dye."

It read:

_Cheddar is only a few miles away, over the Barrow-Downs. Go while it is still light. And stay away from the Wheelbarrow!_

_Mary-Sue & Tommy xxx_

The four half-pints were hungry, so they divided the letter between them to save the little food they had left for the walk.

"What do you think it means by barrows?" asked Poppy.

Megan looked out over the downs. "I suppose it means burial mounds," she pondered. "And the Wheelbarrow must be some kind of a grave on wheels."

The four of them shuddered.

"Well," said Fenny at last, "I for one don't want to wait till sundown to go through there. We'd better take their advice and go while it's light."

And the four of them reluctantly set off, pursued by a chilly wind that sent the grass and leaves in the forest waving, and would have done the same on the downs had there been anything but naked earth and rock.

After a while, Sam piped up: "D'you know if the phone lines reach to Cheddar? Only dad'll worry if I'm not back by this afternoon."

"Never fear," said Megan. "I put a note through Annie's door while Fenny was calling the taxi. She'll pass it on to everyone."

--

Annie Freda got up late, padded across the hall to the lounge and noticed a piece of paper lying on the carpet. She picked it up and read it. "They might have invited me."

Afterwards she phoned Megan and Poppy's parents on the other end of Shiredon, who sighed at their daughters' wilfulness but were used to this kind of thing.

She was halfway through calling Sam's dad when there was a knock on the door. She answered it to several tall, foreboding figures in pinstriped suits.

Something quite nasty happened which would probably raise the rating, and then they and the letter were gone, the only thing moving being the abandoned phone swinging from its cord.

--

The boundaries of Shiredon are a disputed thing, but common knowledge agrees that they peter out somewhere along the river in the Quite Elderly Forest. As the four half-pints made their nervous way around the first hill, stepping gingerly on ground that was scorched and rent as if great claws had ploughed it, they left their homes and the comfort of the familiar far behind.

The sun rose in an orange blaze, as if determined to give a last grand display before summer died into autumn, sending thick dark shadows against the torn earth. Squinting up into the sky, Fenny saw birds wheeling about the edge of the forest and above the river in the distance, but none ventured over the downs. Not even insects crawled in the parched earth. The heavy air smelled of dust and a strange, sickly scent.

Only once they found something living: a small, wilting patch of wheat, brown and barely clinging to life. Beside it was the very small, delicate skeleton of a crow, a few dark feathers still sticking to the corroded bones. The sickly smell was stronger here, so they moved on, Poppy looking very ill.

As they paused in the most shaded place they could find – the leeward side of a hill – to take a very subdued drink of water, a rattling noise disturbed them. Fenny crept up to look over the crest of the hill.

She bit down a scream.

A gigantic wheelbarrow of bleached wood was rattling and bumping toward them over the dead furrows of the ground, dragging behind it a great long pole which stretched across the ground. Lashed to the pole was a long line of chambers, spraying a thick purple-grey smog into the surrounding downs.

Fenny crouched, frozen, for a second. Then on instinct she sprang back down to her friends, yelling, "RUN!"

The four sprinted away, panting in shallow breaths, trying to breathe more oxygen and less smog. The Wheelbarrow roared after them, bumping over the rents in the ground, choking out its load of the foul pesticide.

Then it was past them, jolting away along the furrows of the Downs.

The four staggered, panting, across the swift, shallow river that marked the end of the Downs, and, coughing, pounded on the tall, strong wooden gates of Cheddar.


	6. Hey Arthur!

Disclaimer: Gee, I wish I could write as well as JRRT. But I can't, and he wrote LotR, so I don't own anything to do with it…

**The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings**

**The Fellowship of the Round Yellow Shiny Thing**

**Chapter 6: Hey Arthur!**

Cheddar's heavy gate was opened cautiously: it was, after all, late at night and very dark, the time when ghosties and ghoulies and things that went bump were abroad.

This was fine with Fenny, who, when danger threatened, much preferred to be in a different country.

She led her intrepid band through the shady streets of Cheddar, which seemed poky and narrow after the green, wide open spaces of Shiredon. The four half-pints hurried along as quietly as they could, looking over their shoulders, and jumping at small noises. Behind them, there was a scrambling, a thud and a muffled cry of "ouch". As they rounded the corner, the gatekeeper could just be heard to say: "I'm sure I don't know why you're trying to climb the gates to get in, I haven't locked them yet, and if you're trying to sneak in unnoticed may I draw your attention to this spot in the wall where the bricks are coming loose…"

This time, Fenny was doing the mapwork, and at the twentieth dead end she had to admit that they were, if not lost, perhaps slightly directionally disadvantaged.

A Big Smelly Person with a face like he was sucking lemons leant on a redbrick wall, surveying the street as if he disapproved of creation in general. Megan pointed to him. "Do you think he could tell us where we are?"

Poppy took a step behind her friend as she saw the man's scowling face. "He doesn't look very friendly."

Megan squeezed her sister's hand, then stepped up to the man. She barely reached his waist. "Um. Er. Hello? Excuse me?"

He looked left, then right, then finally down in exaggerated surprise. "What?"

"Er, do you know the way to…" She nudged Fenny, who had come up behind her with the other two for moral support. "Where is it we're meeting Gareth?"

"The Frolicking Filly," supplied Poppy promptly. Sam stared at her.

"Wait, he didn't actually tell us," she objected. "He just said to meet him in Cheddar."

Poppy shook her head. "He did, but the author forgot to write it down, and so we now remember it through what it known in fanfic circles as a _plot hole_," she informed them. It sounded like a quote.

"That sounds like a quote," said Megan suspiciously.

"No," Poppy insisted. "The author has most certainly not just realized that she has forgotten to endow me with any discernable personality whatsoever and, panicking, decided to prevent me from fading into the background of the story by speaking through me in thinly-veiled Authors' Notes."

The other three half-pints blinked, repeating the convoluted sentence in their heads. It still didn't make much sense.

The man, evidently deciding that the four were utterly mad, was staring at them. "If you can come back to reality for a few seconds," he interrupted gruffly, "the Filly is just over there." He pointed to the end of the street, where several men were standing on ladders, repainting a sign.

"'The Exhausted Equine'?" Fenny read, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," explained the man, "It's been Frolicking for so long it's probably a bit knackered…"

The half-pints exchanged incredulous glances, then Fenny smiled gratefully at the man. "Thanks," she told him. "You've been a great help, mister… er…"

"Leucospermummy. Phil Leucospermummy."

"Mr. Leuco… something. Thanks!"

The four friends were halfway down the street when Phil Leucospermummy seemed to realise something. "No! Wait—come back—you're the protagonists! I'm not meant to help the protagonists!" When they didn't return, he kicked irritably at the ground. "Damn it. No wonder I never become a main villain."

He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the dark figure that crept silently up the street, silhouetted against the moon, stubbed its toe, swore, and disappeared into the Filly… er, Equine just after Fenny and co.

The inside of the Equine was well-lit but smoky, and very loud, in the grand tradition of pubs everywhere. Though some of the clientele were Short Furry People, most were Smelly People, and the three half-pints had to duck and weave and, in extreme cases, take cover under tables to avoid being squashed.

Sam, who could really project her voice when she wanted to, called up the innkeeper's attention, and he leaned over the counter to look at them. "Good evening," he greeted them jovially, because innkeepers are always jovial. He was also fat, ruddy-faced and cheery for the same reason. "What can I help you with?"

"We're looking for someone," Sam told him, looking over her shoulder at Fenny. "A Sme – a big person, name of Gareth; long hair, beard and so on. Really long grey robe and cloak, pointy hat, and a staff with a knob on the end."

"Wizard, is he?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

The innkeeper tapped the side of his red nose with one sausage-like finger. "Haven't seen him around, sorry," he said apologetically. "You might try asking at the tourist information office, though. Hurry, before it closes."

They asked at the tourist information office, with the same results. As they dragged their feet dejectedly back to the Equine, thinking that at least they could wait for Gareth to turn up somewhere warm, a dark-clad figure leapt out of the shadows (of which there were a large amount, it being night-time) and seized them, two under each arm.

"Hey! Help! Help!" they cried, but the figure shushed them. "I'm a friend. I was going to wait for you to get back to the Equine, but time is short, the author is lazy, and – no offence to Tolkien, Eru rest his soul – that dancing-on-tables thing is rather embarrassing."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Sam demanded. Fenny had gone still and vacant again like the last time they were attacked, whilst under the man's other arm, Megan was comforting a terrified Poppy.

The man seemed to consider this, then placed them down on the pavement in front of him and threw back his bomber jacket, flourishing a broken samurai sword.

"For I am Arthur, son of Arnold, and if by life or death I can misquote the movie, I will."


	7. Never answer the phone

Disclaimer: I do not own anything save for a lingering hope that I will not be sued by the Tolkien Estate… :P

**The Blatant Rip-Off of the Rings**

**The Fellowship of the Round Yellow Shiny Thing**

**Chapter 7: Why you should always let someone else answer the phone**

"I will guide you to Brookdale," said Arthur.

They were back in the Exhausted Equine, in a fairly comfortable room that Arthur had rented. He was a friend of Gareth, he'd explained.

"Where is he?" they'd asked. "He said he'd meet us here."

Arthur had looked troubled for a moment, then explained: "He's… he can't come right now. He's… busy. I would help him myself, but he made me promise that, if anything happened to him, I would be your guard and guide."

"If anything _happened_ to him?" Poppy had repeated, alarmed. "Is he hurt?"

But Arthur was evasive, and they couldn't get anything more out of him.

He'd laid out a plan. They were staying at the Equine for the day, and getting some sleep; as soon as dusk arrived they would slip out under cover of darkness to avoid detection. For now, they were not to leave the room. Arthur had had a word with the innkeeper, who would tell anyone who asked that the room had been flooded and was not available for renting. All they could do, said Arthur, was wait and rest while he stayed alert for danger.

This plan didn't really work.

About half an hour after sun-up, there came the sound of a phone ringing out in the lobby. The innkeeper answered it, and he sounded surprised, though the walls muffled his words beyond recognition.

There was a conspiratorial knocking at the door, and the innkeeper sidled in, holding a cordless phone in his ruddy hand. He sneaked in a way that would make a ranger cry. "Phone for you," he whispered loudly to Fenny, closing the door by inches and yet somehow still managing to make it slam. "I said they'd got the wrong number, but they said they knew you were here, so I guessed that you'd told a friend you were staying here…"

Arthur looked alarmed. "I think I'd better take this."

The innkeeper looked questioningly at Fenny, who nodded, and then handed the phone to the man. Arthur took it gingerly, and held it to his ear, holding his nose to disguise his voice.

"Hello?"

All the people in the room could hear a sudden burst of static, then a papery, crackling voice, muttering something. Fenny couldn't make out the words, but it sounded something like "heaven hays" or a similarly meaningless phrase. Arthur looked alarmed, squeaked "I'm so sorry, you have the wrong number," in a fake nasal voice, and turned the phone off.

"We have to leave," he said at once. "We have to leave at once."

"But it's only morning," Megan objected. "You said we had to leave at night so we wouldn't be followed."

"I am willing to risk being followed by mortal agents," proclaimed Arthur, "if it would help us avoid those who would otherwise track us. By day we must merely worry about ruffians such as Phil Leucospermum trailing us—but by night we would be followed closely by those whose name is feared—those who even now have tried to trap us by phone—the Pinstriped Drivers!"

"The drivers!" exclaimed the innkeeper, and his face went as white as albino milk. "Eru preserve us! I thought they were dead!"

"No, they simply went into hiding when the One Ring was lost," Arthur explained. "But now It has been found, and even as we speak the Dark Lord Susan is waxing in strength and—"

"Um, sorry," interrupted Poppy, "but this is the third time we've heard this. Can we just take it as read that the audience knows what's going on, and get on with the story?"

Arthur glared at her. "In that case…"

But he never finished his sentence, for there was a great banging at the door, and a horrible splintering noise as the ancient wood gave way; then cold, hollow footsteps began to echo down the hallway.

"GO! Out through the window, quick!" cried Arthur, and swept the four frozen half-pints towards it.

"It… it doesn't open…" began the innkeeper. There was a smash and the tinkling of falling glass shards. "Okay, never mind…"

"Hurry, run!" yelled Arthur as some_thing_ began bashing at the room's door. He clambered through the broken window after the hobbits, and turned to the innkeeper.

"Quick, hide somewhere!"

"I, I…" The innkeeper trailed off. "I could hold them back a bit… go round the hedge. There's a gate. I'll stop them following…"

The two men stared at each other for a second, then, as the door gave a dreadful cracking shudder, Arthur nodded gratefully and sprinted away.

He was barely round the hedge when the door fell in.

Five dark, pinstriped shapes entered the room. The innkeeper took a step backwards, eyes popping, mouth stretched open in a silent scream.

Then there were only the shapes, which flowed out of the broken window, almost invisible where the sunlight blotted them out like shadows.


End file.
